


Put Me Back Together

by thewildwilds



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Drabble Collection, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-08-14 17:21:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20195911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewildwilds/pseuds/thewildwilds
Summary: There's gotta be a reason why we're here.(A series of Kuzupeko smut-specific drabbles and prompt fills.)





	1. Upright

**Author's Note:**

> Content will range from highly suggestive to explicit. Please read at your own discretion.
> 
> Prompt for this drabble was "kissing to stay quiet." Original post is [here](https://thewildwilds.tumblr.com/post/186754625423/4-5-for-the-smut-prompts).

Fuyuhiko, it turns out, is very vocal when they make love.

She makes her fair share of noises too (countless years of kendo have taught her to release her fighting spirit through, ah… _rigorous physical activity),_ but even at her loudest, he has her beat. It’s more than just the moaning and groaning. He talks. He curses. She wonders if he’s even aware of what he’s saying half the time.

She likes it, though. She likes the way she can make him come undone so thoroughly, with just the graze of her hand, or the swivel of her hips. The _problem_ is that they’re currently doing it in the supply closet of the Future Foundation-run facility-dash-prison stationed on Jabberwock Island.

(They’re well aware that they deserve whatever imprisonment sentence they get. They probably deserve so much worse. But no matter how many wrongs they’ve committed, no matter how repentant they are, there’s still some level of irreverence against their jailers that leaves them all-too-happy to stick it to the man, once in a while.)

They’ve pushed aside some of the coats and odds and ends to make space against the wall. She keeps herself upright by wrapping her legs around Fuyuhiko’s hips and looping her arms tightly around his shoulders. He’s got a firm grip on her thighs. They’ve found a rhythm that has them clutching anywhere, anything for extra purchase, his legs straining and her fingers tunneling through the ends of his bristly hair.

“Fuck. Ah, shit. Oh _fuck,”_ he hisses. It’s only the start of the usual string of praise. He’s always so honest, so earnest with what he’s feeling, even something like this.

“Fuyuhiko— Faster,” she pants in his ear (because he loves nothing more than when she tells him _exactly_ what she wants).

He nods (one of the few nonverbal actions he manages), readjusting his grip. “God,” he chokes, “_dam_mit,” and the tension coiling between feels taut enough to snap them in two, but they won’t break just yet.

She cants her hips towards his at _just_ the right angle, locks her ankles together behind his back to help drive him in faster and deeper, and he lets out a choked groan that quickly dissolves into a litany of curses. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck, fuck, fuck—”_

_That’s the idea,_ she wants to say. The thought pops up in her head unbidden, and she giggles quietly before she can help herself. Fuyuhiko doesn’t seem to mind.

He’s close. She can tell by the way he slows the rhythm to focus on harder, concentrated thrusts, and every time he bottoms out, she bears back down, and he _trembles._ He snakes one hand between them to knead her breast through her shirt, his breath quick and hot against her neck. She fears one of these days he might pass out before they even finish.

Her ears perk up suddenly. (Even now, after everything, her instincts are honed sharp like a knife.) It sounds like footsteps down the hall. It could be anyone, but Fuyuhiko is too far gone to notice right now. If whoever hears them while they’re passing by, they’re bound to get caught.

Fuyuhiko’s hips stutter, signaling the point of no return. Just before he hits that peak, she kisses him, deep and open-mouthed, smothering away the sound. His moan makes her lips tingle. The jolt of his hips has her hitting the edge too, and suddenly she has to hide her voice as much as his. He chases her gasp with his tongue, slick and insistent and all-too-eager to satisfy. She cups her hand against the back of his neck, keeping him in place as they shudder against each other.

The footsteps down the hall fade away.

He collapses against her, completely spent, keeping her pinned against the wall with just his weight alone. She sighs from as much relief as there is satisfaction.

“I love you. I love you. I love you,” Fuyuhiko murmurs hazily into the curve of her neck, over and over again, and that’s something she knows she would never, ever want to stifle.


	2. Black Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was "anything involving the secretive brushing of fingertips against inner thighs in public spaces." This is set in my Gambler/Yakuza universe. Original post is [here](https://thewildwilds.tumblr.com/post/186919603081/if-its-not-already-been-asked-for-could-you).

Her parents don’t like how often she’s been visiting the physical locations of the family casinos. They consider it an unnecessary risk, and there are other branches of the business to attend to. (They’re right, of course, but what they don’t know can’t hurt them.)

Her parents don’t understand; it’s a different type of respect she can instill in their patrons if she’s physically _there_. The dealers and servers and workers are all on their best behavior. They never say anything unseemly to her face.

She sits at one of the high limit poker tables, just to oversee. It’s a busy night. She’s already gone over the books with her financial advisor, now it’s just a matter of showing her face; let them all see the heiress to the Pekoyama clan isn’t just a little girl hiding behind the curtains.

Someone puts a hand on her knee.

She bristles, fully prepared to kick over the stool of whatever dumb or perverted drunkard dared to touch her, but when she turns to look, it’s only Kuzuryuu, grinning at her like the insufferable scoundrel he is.

“Thanks for saving me a seat,” he says. She doesn’t respond, even though that’s most certainly _not_ what she was doing. He raps his knuckles on the felt table to be dealt in.

He doesn’t lift his hand. He’s sitting close enough so that they’re hip-to-hip. It’s enough to hide what he’s doing to anyone who isn’t watching carefully. Above the table, he’s perfectly composed.

If she didn’t know him better, she’d think he were the dumbest man in earth (and perhaps he is), but she can tell: he’s keeping her right at the corner of his eye, mapping out her responses. She’d recognize this prickly feeling on the back of her neck from anywhere. He’s subtle about it at least, no one else would notice but her.

When the dealer shuffles the cards, she feels his fingers twitch against her knee. It’s feather-light at first, she can barely feel it beneath the heavy fabric of her kimono. Nonetheless, it’s still apparent; a slow, gentle caress with just two fingers along the curve of her kneecap.

She sucks in a quick, quiet breath through her nose, releases it slowly through her mouth. She tries to stay composed, tries hard not to give away any sort of reaction while he traces a circle along her inner lower thigh. She’s been trained to do this; no showing signs of weakness unless you want to lose.

“What do you think, princess? Should I fold?” He stops briefly to tilt his card hand in her direction, but they both know that’s the hand that doesn’t matter.

Her mouth is dry. She has to swallow to soothe the ache. “No,” she says. “Stay in.”

(The corner of his mouth twitches up.)

His hand resumes movement. He creeps higher, higher up the inside of her thigh. (She doesn’t stop him. She doesn’t want to stop him.) His fingers sneaks beneath the flap of her kimono, so he has better access, and the touch of his bare skin upon hers nearly makes her jump in her seat.

He touches his fingertips to the warm flesh of her inner thigh, up and down, inch by inch. He’s slow, deliberate, but methodical. He builds distance with every stroke. He reaches the join of her leg, and the edge of his pinky grazes the fabric of her underwear too many times for it to be considered an accident. He doesn’t linger any place for too long though; he continues to caress back and forth at an even rhythm. It’s _maddening_. It’s suddenly like an oven underneath her clothes, hot and stifling. She wonders if he can feel it too. (If she tilted her hips forward, just slightly, she could get _more_ than just a split-second brush.)

He pulls his hand away. She nearly screams in frustration. The game is over, it turns out, and he’s sweeping together his winnings. He doesn’t bother with another game. He sits up from his stool.

He must see the way her gaze lingers on the hand he shoves in his pocket, because when she looks up at his face, he’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

He leans toward her, his voice pitched low.

“If you wanna play another hand, come find me.” The debonair tilt of his hat betrays the cheeky look in his eyes. He spares her one final grin and leaves.

Smart bastard. She’ll have to show him, she can give as good as she gets.

She at least has the discipline to wait a few minutes before she gets up from her stool and follows after him.


	3. Bet It All On Black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Gambler/Yakuza 'verse! Prompt was “'we couldn’t find a condom so we’re getting each other off in other ways' sex." Original post is [here](https://thewildwilds.tumblr.com/post/187015145154/12-for-the-nsfw-prompt-thing).

They all but crash into his hotel room together. He should probably pull away, so he can see where they’re going, but goddamn are her kisses addictive as all hell.

They stumble over to the bed together, lips still locked. She’s already undoing his tie. He reaches for the bedside drawer, gropes around for that little foil package.

His fingers only touch air.

He breaks the kiss so he can actually see for himself.

The drawer is empty.

“Fuck,” he hisses, dropping his forehead against her shoulder. “Fuckin’ shit. I don’t have a condom.” Figures that the one night he manages to get lucky, he forgets to buy another box. He looks up at her hopefully. “I don’t suppose you—?”

“No,” she sighs, pulling away, and all of a sudden it just feels too cold without her near.

“So… I guess we can’t—”

“_No,” _she repeats firmly.

_“Okay._ Okay. Fine.”

Silence fills the room, awkward and palpable. (She has options. If she wanted, she could call one of her bodyguards to go fetch a box, but surely there’s no quicker way to kill the mood than having a lackey hand-deliver condoms to your door.)

He drops to his knees in front of her. “Come here. I’ll get you off like this.” He tugs her closer and she only just barely manages to keep herself from tripping. She glares at him. He can only smile apologetically as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of her panties so he can tug them down her legs. “Put your leg on my shoulder.”

She’s too stunned to do anything but acquiesce. He parts her kimono to the side so he has room to work.

“Hold onto me, if you want.” He smirks up at her. “You’re gonna need it.”

He doesn’t have time to savor the huffy expression on her face before he’s taking a breath and diving right in.

_“Oh—”_ she gasps. Her knees nearly buckle from underneath her, but that’s what he’s here for. He helps keep her upright as he licks a long stripe up her center. Her hips jerk forward, perhaps involuntarily, but he’s not gonna ignore it. He works around all the sensitive little spots he’s learned that make her shudder and gasp.

He readjusts his grip on her thighs, guiding her over his attentive mouth. Judging by the sounds she’s making, she’s perfectly okay with this alternative so far. Her fingers clutch onto his scalp, almost painfully, and he can’t help but grin; he’s sure she can feel it too, because she reaches down and pinches the back of his neck.

Her sharp breath hisses over her teeth when he sinks two fingers inside her, his mouth never slowing, never stopping. He uses the thumb of his free hand, swipes lightly over her clit before he replaces it with his tongue. He works his fingers and mouth in tandem, driving her on and on for heavenly minutes that almost feel like hours, until she’s keening.

She comes in no time, gasping as her body trembles. He helps draw it out, lets her ride the waves until she’s completely satisfied. He only slows when she does, slumping half-above him with sapped energy.

He helps lay her on the bed so she can catch her breath. She peeks her eyes open enough to look at him and he _grins,_ a cat that’s got the cream.

“Come here,” she says, sitting back up. She reaches to undo the front of his pants. “Don’t think I’m done with you yet.”

“I sure hope not,” he manages, moments before his eyes are rolling into the back of his head.


	4. Gossamer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was "sleepy morning kisses that accidentally turn intense." Original post is [here](https://thewildwilds.tumblr.com/post/187429492148/ohhhh-16-and-you-know-which-couple-3).

Mornings aren’t necessarily the most relaxing time for Peko. She’s up early, always, before the sun rises. So many years spent rooming with the rest of the house staff made it impossible to ever sleep in. She knows she doesn’t have to spend her mornings being productive anymore, and even though she still hasn’t fully grasped the concept, she’s gotten better at it. Sometimes, she likes to spend her mornings taking walks, around the perimeter of the estate, or even just the back garden.

Today, she’s content to just laze.

Fuyuhiko sleeps soundly beside her. If she wanted, she could reach out, poke at his nose until he snuffles and bats her hand away like a cat.

She watches him instead, the flutter of his eyelashes, the gentle rise-and-fall of his chest, the way his breath ruffles the wispy ends of her hair. She doesn’t think she could ever grow tired of his face, familiar and yet still a wonder after all this time.

She’s rewarded for her patience when Fuyuhiko stirs awake, and she gets to see that sleepy, sloe-eyed half-smile he only wears during lazy mornings like this.

He doesn’t say anything. He leans into her space and kisses her cheek, then her chin, then her mouth when he’s able to find it properly.

“Good morning,” she murmurs.

“Mmm,” he replies.

He kisses her again, and again, slow and sweet. She surmises he must’ve had a _very, very_ restful sleep if he’s this affectionate so early. He peppers slow, gentle, kisses wherever he can reach, but it’s not long before his lips find hers again.

His tongue brushes against hers, tentatively at first, and then more confidently when she opens willingly for him. The taste is not altogether pleasant, but she imagines she can’t taste any better. He doesn’t seem to mind, his hand coming up to hook around her waist.

She shifts closer, tugging him into another searing kiss— and she feels he’s hard, through the loose fabric of his sweatpants.

He notices that she notices. He flinches as though his body has betrayed him somehow. “Sorry,” he says. His face is bright red. He tries to pull away. “Just— Just ignore it. It’ll go away on its own.”

“No, I—” She curls an arm around his waist before he can pull away too far. “I want to… help.”

The meaning of _help_ is not lost on him. He swallows thickly. “Then I’ll… For you…” His fingers scrabble around the hem of her nightgown, but she lays a gentle hand over his so he can stop and look at her.

“Not for me, right now. Just for you. Okay?”

His brow furrows, just a bit. He balances on his elbow so he can look at her properly. He’s searching for something in her eyes. _(“Are you doing this because I want it, or because you want it?”) _She stares back, unblinking, unwavering.

When he finds his answer _(“It’s both”),_ he nods. “Okay.”

He relaxes back against the mattress. She dips her hand beneath the waistband of his sweatpants.

He responds almost immediately. She’s barely done anything, and yet he bucks into her palm, and she can feel how he swells eagerly at her touch. If he weren’t awake before, he certainly is now. She touches all along the length, feeling the contrast between the softness of his skin and the hardness of his arousal, before wrapping her fingers around him and setting a rhythm.

This feeling has always fascinated her. She sees why he focuses so intently on her when they make love because she can’t take her eyes off him. His brow creases, his good eye is dark, and there’s a wonderful color right at the top of his cheeks.

His breathing is already shallow. She tugs his pants and underwear down, and he drops right into her awaiting hand. She returns to the rhythm, pumps up and down with long strokes, until he’s keening.

“Peko,” he pants. “You’re so— _so_ incredible.” (Even with something like this, he still finds opportunity to praise her.)

“Shhhh…” She touches her lips to his collarbone, and he shivers.

He gives up on words at some point. He buries his face against her neck and simply focuses on sensations. His voice sounds completely wrecked. It still surprises her, sometimes, seeing how responsive he is while he’s on the brink, knowing she’s the one who brought him there.

“Peko—” he chokes out. “B— ‘Bout to—”

“I know,” she soothes, with a small kiss against his temple. “I know.”

He digs his fingers into the fabric bunched around her waist, and he comes, with hot, panting breaths against her neck. She doesn’t stop; she guides him through it with the unfaltering rhythm of her hand, until there’s nothing left.

When he finally manages to come back down from his high, he groans.

“Made a fuckin’ mess,” he murmurs into the pillow.

She laughs. He’s right. They’ll have to do laundry early this morning too.

“Guess we better start the day then.” She carefully rolls out of bed, taking the blanket along with her. She turns back to look at him. He looks like a wreck, with his hair mussed and the aftermath of their tryst so evident, and yet he’s staring back at her with such an adoring smile she can’t help but smile back. “Come on.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, and follows after her.


End file.
